


On the Edge

by caerynlae



Series: Darkest Hours [2]
Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: (Walter), Blood, Cutting, Dark, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 02:30:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12245322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caerynlae/pseuds/caerynlae
Summary: After his sister’s death, Walter has a hard time coping. She was his lifeline when his thoughts turn dark and now it’s her death that sent him to the edge of the cliff again. And this time there is no one around to help, or is there?(Can be read as a stand-alone)





	On the Edge

“ _And maybe, I'll find out,_  
_A way to make it back someday,_  
_To watch you, to guide you through the darkest of your days_ ”  
– Wherever You Will Go by The Calling

Every time I realized that I’m different while growing up, it hurt. And every time it happened, I swore to myself I would never let anyone see my hurt. That I would never give them the opportunity and the insight into my innermost thoughts and feelings again, because this just gave them an opening to hurt me further. So I slowly applied masks, although even I have to admit, they were often not enough. No matter how much I tried to pretend to be like the others, I know I’m just not and I know that this is still obvious for anyone I come into contact with.

So instead I repress my EQ, showing the whole world a cold, unemotional, robot-like exterior. Doing my very best to convince everyone that there is no more to be found, inside. And I think that strategy worked well. Too well, I’m reminded every time I fail, because I wasn’t able to see something on an emotional level that seems to be obvious to everyone else. It’s still obvious that I’m different and that I don’t fit in. But at least now no one sees that it bothers me. Bothers me that others can’t accept people who are different to them.

High intelligence seems to come with two drawbacks. Not only does it seem to immediately imply an inability to interact in a way that the majority of the population considers normal. It also gives us the brain power to make exactly that blatantly obvious to us. It makes me feel as if that there is something wrong with me. It gives us the ability to analyse and see with too high clarity all the things we are doing wrong. But we just don’t seem to be able to adjust. Our high intelligence seems to fail us the second we try to pretend to be just like everyone else. It’s one puzzle I just cannot solve.

At one point in time, I would’ve talked to Megan about all this. And sweet, patient, kind Megan would’ve shown me the light at the end of the tunnel. But she is not here anymore. Again, my high IQ seems to have failed me in the most cruel way, first allowing me to hope that I might be able to find a cure for her but then I’m still not good enough to do so in time.

I know I’m not dealing with her death well - or at all. Ever since it happened, Scorpion and the missions are the only things that keep me going. And ever since it happened, I pick up the blade more often than not.

The mission today would have ended in complete disaster if Paige hadn’t fixed the mess I made with my useless non-existent EQ. The research article I read the other day is definitely true for me. It hypothesises EQ increases the more one practices it. Something I’ve certainly neglected doing.

I’m glad when Toby finally leaves. Now I have the place to myself. Sometimes I think it would be better if I did have a place away from the garage but then I wouldn’t be able to work on my projects when I can’t sleep at night. 

Finally, alone. I slump forward and the tension finally leaves my shoulders. Finally, I can drop all my masks and just be myself. I can tell that I’m in a dark and brooding mood tonight but I can’t change it. Absentmindedly I pull my knife out of my desk drawer, wondering if tonight would be one of those nights where I add another cut.

I pull my special made solution out next. Applying it to my right forearm will get rid of the concealer that I specifically designed to hide the scars.

Pouring a large glass of whiskey, the bottle coming from the same hidden drawer. The team is convinced I don’t drink alcohol. That’s not true. I just don’t want to risk losing my composure in front of them. I take my gathered supplies and sink down on the red sofa.

Alcohol and physical pain are the only two things I know of that can stop my inner pain and slow down my thoughts. Slow them down enough, so finally the world stops being so goddamn intense. I couldn’t imagine never seeing the world as clearly and intense as I always do. I love being able to see it that way but there are times when it just gets too much and the alcohol provides a temporary relief.

I lose track of time and track of how much whiskey I had. I know I shouldn’t even have started drinking on a night like this. If my thoughts are dark already when I start, they tend to become a lot darker still by the time I’m inebriated. 

I use my knife to trace the previous scars. Not enough to cut, just to calm myself and trying to convince myself that I don’t want to add another tonight. Though I realise that it’s futile if I’ve come this far already.

Megan was the only person in this world who had an inkling of the kind of person Walter O’Brien is, behind the robotic mask. The only one who had an idea how dark my thoughts can turn. And now she is gone and her last message to me is asking me to open up. But how can I open up? After having been burned so many times and after so many people made it abundantly clear that they don’t know how to handle me. I’m too intense, I see every weakness, I analyse every situation. It’s too much for normal people. Not even my own parents knew how to deal with me. How is anyone else then supposed to accept me?

I finally decided where and in which direction and how long the new cut should be. I push the knife down hard, starting just below my wrists and pulling it across diagonally until it comes to a stop at my elbow. It looks like I was trying to cross out all the previous cuts. I made it quite deep but not too deep to make it life-threatening. My mind had absolutely no problem solving that particular equation. It’s just human interactions that it cannot parse sufficiently. Lucky me.

I relish in the pain, watching mesmerized and finally calmed, as the blood runs down my arm. There is something truly calming about this. Right now, I don’t regret the cut at all, although I’m sure I will in the morning. I will have to wear long sleeves until it’s healed enough for me to apply the concealer again.

The knife is lying carelessly on the coffee table for now. I mentally remind myself that I need to clean it and put it away before the others get back in the morning. The whiskey bottle is empty and needs throwing away somewhere the others won’t see. But for now, I just want to try stop thinking. Quite a bit of blood has escaped by now and I begin to feel light headed. I look back down at my arm, letting the sight hypnotize me. I’m not sure when it started but I can clearly feel tears running down my face now.

I must’ve been nearly catatonic because I didn’t hear the garage door open or someone walking in. In fact, I was completely disconnected from my environment until I hear Paige shout, “Oh my god, Walter!”

From one second to the next all the calm drains out of me, replaced by sharp, hot embarrassment. Why hadn’t I taken this upstairs? Although I doubt I would’ve heard anyone come up the stairs either.

My head whips around in the direction of Paige voice. I try to focus on her, but everything is kind of blurry. I’m not sure if it’s from the whiskey or the blood loss or the tears in my eyes. Probably all of the above.

“Paige, you weren’t supposed to see me like this”, I turn my head away from her and blindly try to find my first aid kit to try to conceal the blood from her. As if I didn’t realize it was too late for that by now.

She lets her hand bag drop and hastens over to me, kneeling down next to me. “This looks bad, I think I should call an ambulance.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I did the calculations, the chance that I’ll bleed out is less than 0.01%.”, I mutter and can’t help but stare at my arm again, trying to get myself to calm down again.

“This is not the time for your numbers!” Paige really seems unnecessarily hysterical to me but what do I know.

“Don’t you see, Paige, numbers are all I’ve got. Calculations and one thought chasing the next, every second of every fucking day. It never stops”, I try to explain but she’d be the first to ever understand so I don’t hold my breath.

Paige found the first aid kit and starts dressing my wound. I let her. I’m not sure why. For once I just don’t seem to have any energy left to push away. She looks at my arm more closely. With some of the blood gone now, she can clearly see all the other scars. I can tell when she does because she makes this surprised noise at the back of her throat.

“This is not the first time.” Now she is just stating the obvious.

I use my other hand to wipe down my face, trying to get rid of the evidence that I was crying. But really, I do know that it’s too late to hide that as well.

I don’t say anything, what is there to say?

Paige works quickly and efficiently but I can see her hands trembling, I’m not sure why. I can tell however that she wants to ask questions.

“How long have you been doing this, Walter?”, she asks, her voice sounds both concerned and horrified, if I analysed it correctly. 

I press my lips together tightly and don’t really plan on answering that. She’s seen enough, there is no need to let her know even more. But then Megan’s words come back to me. And now Paige has seen me at my worst anyway. If she is planning to run after this, then she will. Me answering her question will not increase the probability of that scenario. If she by some miracle does stick around, then there might finally be one person in this world again that knows what’s going on in my mind.

“I..”, I trail off hesitantly. It’s not easy talking about something that you have been keeping an utmost secret for so long. Megan knows that I cut but she has never caught me in the act, so to speak, and I haven’t let her see my arm since I perfected my concealer nearly 10 years ago. My arm certainly took a turn for the worse since then.

“I’ve been doing this since I was 14. When it became abundantly clear to me that I’m different and that I will never fit in, no matter how much I try. No matter how many masks I put on. All the futile attempts were just so exhausting. So I stopped showing any emotion to the outside world. Became a robot as people then started calling me. But I know, rationally, that that’s not healthy. Cutting has become the only emotional outlet I let myself experience.”

Once I started talking, once the floodgate opened, so many feelings I never really realised I had been bottling up inside, came out. I kept talking and talking, by voice going hoarse. And beautiful, perfect Paige never gets up and runs as far away from me as she can. Instead, she is attentive, encourages me to continue when I pause and offers the most cautious of touches, just enough to calm me but not enough too overload my sense. She seems to know exactly what I need at any given moment, reading the non-verbal cues that I don’t even know I’m giving. This just once again exemplifies her very own genius to me. This special talent that I saw in her the day I first met her.

Finally, I seem to run out of things to say. Paige pulls me closer and hugs me tight. We sit together on the sofa for what feels like hours. She keeps running her fingers through my hair and just holds on to me, grounds me in reality. I can’t believe she is still sat here, holding me tight after all I’ve said. That’s when I realize she will not run away. That in its basics she has known who I am since the day we met and that my story will not change her opinion of me. Instead it seems to have tied us tighter together and I’ve never been so grateful to have met her, as I am right now. 

I know that I’ve finally found someone I can trust with my feelings. Someone where I can be truly myself. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so at peace before.

“ _I know now, just quite how,_  
_My life and love might still go on,_  
_In your heart, in your mind, I'll stay with you for all of time”_  
– Wherever You Will Go by The Calling


End file.
